I'd never usually consider reading, much less falling in love with, a blog called "Attack of the Redneck Mommy". I mean, it has "redneck" and "mommy" in the title! Luckily for me (and of course, even luckier for the author), I took a chance and my life hasn't been the same since. She's funny, she's hot, and she's a dirty, dirty pervert. Say hi to Tanis!

I spent an inordinate amount of time hanging around my best friend’s house as a child, primarily as a means to escape my big brother’s attempts to torture me by farting on my face or twisting my toes into a tangle of knots.

It helped that my best friend’s mom was never home, they had the fancy cable channels my parents were too cheap to fork out for and there was always an abundance of junk food in their pantry that no one seemed to mind if we gorged ourselves on.

My best friend’s parents became accustomed to tripping over me at all hours of the day and eventually adopted me as one of their own in their tribe. As such, I was invited to family functions and gatherings on a regular basis.

No one seemed to bat an eye at the gangly, knobby kneed blonde child who appeared to have no family of her own when she crashed other people’s family dinners.

One such gathering for my best friend’s cousin’s birthday celebration, my best friend and I blew off the grown ups and went to find a quiet spot to gossip about how hideously uncool said cousin was.

We quickly found our way into her aunt and uncle’s private oasis, the master bedroom. My friend immediately started snooping through their bookshelf, looking for a copy of the Joys of Sex; while I stood there paralyzed with fear of being found snooping.

My friend, not finding any sexy books other than a well dog-eared version of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, turned around to find me rooted to the floor with a strange look on my face.

“What’s the matter Tanis?” she whispered, worried I had maybe spotted something gossip worthy like a vibrator or a pair of handcuffs. (She was a horny teenager. I myself had no such interest in other people’s perversions. That didn’t come until much later. Wink.)

“There is a framed picture of MacGyver on the night stand! With a plastic rose laying beneath it!”

“Ya, my aunt has a thing for Richard Dean Anderson,” she quickly explained and then dismissed me to continue her hunt for some unknown treasure trove of sexual goodies.

It turned out that my friend’s aunt was Dicky’s biggest fan. She belonged to his fan club, never missed an episode of MacGyver and dreamed of him every night.

“Doesn’t your uncle mind having another man’s picture framed on the night stand beside his bed?” I asked. I was fairly certain my mom wouldn’t be able to get away with that shit in our house no matter how much she professed to love Elvis.

“Beats me. Now quit staring at MacGyver and help me get this shoe box down from the closet before we’re busted.”

We never were busted, nor did we find anything of interest other than the freakish photo framed on the bedside table.

I never understood why a grown woman could idolize another human being. I mean it’s one thing to hang posters of your heartthrobs on your walls as a teen but once you can legally vote, the posters should come down.

That was before one sunny afternoon when I stumbled on Avitable. Who was this handsome burly man who announced ‘tact is for pussies’? He spoke to the Redneck that lay deep within me. (Bound and gagged with duct tape and an old sock, sure, but she’s still in there.)

It didn’t take me long to realize Adam was the man blogger I had been searching for, what with his crass humour and penchant for posting naked pictures of himself. Here was a blog I wished I had the brass nuts to write myself. I found myself lurking, longer and longer every day, in the hopes of catching his attention.

When that didn’t work, I pulled out the big guns. I sent him a picture of some random Internet bimbo’s my boobs. That got his attention. And so marked the beginnings of a beautiful, slightly one-sided and clearly stalkerish relationship.

Call me Patty Bouvier, but Adam, you are my MacGyver.

I just wish my husband would stop throwing the picture I have of you on my bedside table into the trash.

Who wouldn’t want this mug staring at them when they wake up every morning?

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